


Art: Dismantle the Sun

by mekare



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Broken Bucky, Broken Steve, Fanart, Fealty, Grief/Mourning, King T'Challa & General Okoye, Multi, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Watercolors, alternate planes and realities, basically everyone is broken, interdimensional yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 07:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/pseuds/mekare
Summary: Across space, dimensions and realms the people torn apart reach for that which would make life whole again.





	1. Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dismantle The Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728540) by [hitlikehammers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers). 



> This is for the marvellous fic by hitlikehammers for 2018's Marvelbang. Massive kudos to hitlikehammers for providing such poetic, inspiring writing that instantly sparked ideas for art and the perseverance to keep writing against many obstacles.

_he goes to the grove and lays on the ground, presses his body to the dirt that maybe held a part of Steve, some imprint or echo or tiny trace of the man Bucky had loved for as long as he can remember [...]_

_But he goes there and breathes and aches and closes his eyes and imagines that some whisper of Steve seeps into him, or else some parts of him seep into wherever Steve is, whatever does come next that he’s not worthy of, but that he prays to a god he doesn’t hold to he might see anyway, just because he’s weak and he’s selfish and he hurts: Bucky goes there, and he doesn’t have hope left for much of anything, but he hopes for that._

_For something._

_Sometimes he even stretches out into the dip of grainy dirt, too coarse for sand but so much more smooth, more soft. He sinks into it, and it covers him, envelopes him, and it’s almost soothing, the weight and the way he can’t breathe. The pounding of his pulse is deafening, and his shaking, his trembling is just absorbed by the sand without evidence, as much as the sobs that can’t escape his mouth and so pour from his eyes all the more forceful, all the more unforgiving and honest and wrenched from him like glass, like they could each draw blood that would be taken into the sand, too, without a trace._

_It’s much like the ice, he thinks, if he could properly remember the ice. It doesn’t kill him. It’s worse when he emerges._

_He wishes neither were true._

_He keeps doing it anyway._


	2. Across

 


End file.
